Rizzoli & Isles headcanon prompts
by anastasiabeaverhousen14
Summary: Just some little ficlets I wrote from canons I found on the internet machine. Enjoy and pm me with any prompts you'd like to see
1. Why don't you play anymore?

_Jane never considers playing the piano again, because no one ever brings it up in fear of Jane having flashbacks, till Maura asks her about it, cause obviously, she'd do anything for Maura._

* * *

 _Why don't you play anymore?_

It was a question Maura had wanted to ask for years, but never had the courage to. And not just her, but Angela, Frankie, Korsak, almost anyone who had known her before _it_ happened. You see, what most people don't know, is that Jane, our bad-ass detective, is - or used to be- an accomplished pianist. It wasn't something she ever bragged about, or brought up in conversation unless someone else brought it up. And when it _did_ come up, she'd just say, "Yeah, I play." She'd say it like she hadn't had 9 years of instruction. Like she hadn't performed in countless recitals. Or that she didn't have awards from competitions sitting in a box in her closet, stuffed behind all the old Christmas sweaters her mother had knit over the years. (Yes, between field hockey and softball, Jane Rizzoli performed in music competitions.) She'd even bought herself an upright piano when she moved out for the Academy, so she'd have something to play when she got the craving for ivory keys under her finger tips.

But alas, now that piano was covered in piles of books and old case files and was barely recognizable. Unless you knew before that there was a piano under there, you'd think it was just a desk or something. Nobody said anything when Jane put a sheet over it during the months after her first encounter with Hoyt. Nobody said anything when the books and files and clothing started to cover it. Even Dr. Maura Isles, in her lifelong quest for knowledge, didn't ask.

But for some reason, today, seemed like a good enough day.

* * *

The two were lounging on Jane's sofa after sharing a large, half pepperoni/half mushroom pizza and kale salad (Maura's idea). It was a Saturday, and neither were on call. It was an empty day and there seemed to be no reason that Maura _shouldn't_ ask. For the last hour, Maura's eyes had darted back and forth between the covered piano and the TV, where the Sox were playing some team called the Tigers; yet she had no idea where they were from.

"Jane?" she started, hesitantly

'Yah." came the short reply from the distracted detective

"Have you ever considered playing again?"

"Baseball? Yeah, I mean, I play on the Homicide team every summer."

"Piano." Maura's eyes squeezed shut the moment the word left her mouth, waiting for the Detective to snap

Jane tensed. The room was silent except for the sound of the game.

Maura slowly dared to open her eyes after a quiet minute. Jane was now sitting at the edge of the couch, her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands, thinking.

There was a pregnant pause as Maura internally berated herself for bringing it up. But before she could apologize, Jane spoke, "Do you think I should?"

"Oh, Jane, I don't know…"

Jane cut her off, "But do you think I should?"

Maura took a deep breath, giving herself a moment to think of a response, "Well, from what I've gleaned from the few psychology courses I took in med school, my _medical_ opinion would be that I think that it could be beneficial to the healing process. It could help with the nightmares. It seems as though this is, uh… _his_ last hold on you. I know he's gone, I know you killed him and _that_ dissolved a lot of the mental holds he had on you, but I think _this_ , playing, could get him out of your head once and for all."

Jane lifted her head, now staring out the window.

"I know you still have nightmares. And those may never go away fully. But at least you could play. Many people play instruments as a way to relieve stress, and, uh, pain." Maura started to fizzle, seeing the look on Jane's face.

The two were quiet again. Jane finally sat back on the couch, releasing the breath she had been holding, "I'll consider it." she muttered, grabbing her beer and taking a sip.

Maura sighed in relief, and spent the rest of the afternoon fighting, and failing against a small, victorious smile.


	2. Just Stitch It Up

_Jane never wants to go the hospital to get stitches or whatever whenever she gets injured, and Maura is always there to stitch her up, but not until after berating her for getting scraped up, again, and being offered many many bribes._

* * *

"Maurrrraaaaaa!" came an exasperated whine from none other than the great Detective Jane Rizzoli, making the entire crime lab stop what they were doing to look across the hall to the autopsy suite where Jane was perched on a clean autopsy table.

"I will _not_ just 'stitch you up', Jane." Dr. Maura Isles said, not looking up from her laptop.

Susie Change, the senior criminalist got up from her chair and promptly shut the door, blocking out the sound, and giving a glare to the rest of the lab techs to get back to work.

* * *

Just five minutes ago, Jane had walked in the open door to the autopsy suite to find Maura standing at the island counter on her laptop, cataloging various reports and evidence.

"Hey Maur? Could you do me a solid?"

Maura looked up from her computer and gasped when she saw Jane's new black eye, complete with a small gash on her cheek bone.

"Oh my god, Jane! What happened?"

The detective shrugged, "We were chasing a perp, Frankie and I split up, I cornered him and then he started swinging, he caught my eye, whatever, no big deal."

"Jane!"

"What?"

"You can't just keep letting people beat you up. You need to be more careful. Chasing suspects is dangerous!"

"Of course it is Maura. But I'm a cop. That's what cops do, remember? We chase the bad guys, the bad guys get angry and sometimes punch you. Come on Maur, just stitch me up and I can go back to work."

"No, Jane. You need to go to the hospital. Have a doctor stitch you up."

"But _you're_ a doctor." Jane smiled sweetly

"I am a forensic pathologist, not a plastic surgeon."

"But I don't need a plastic surgeon, and you've done it before."

"No." Maura said, walking back towards her computer

"But you stitch up people _all_ the time." Jane's arm waved, gesturing towards the whole room

"Dead people, Jane."

"But."

"If you say 'but' one more time." the doctor warned

Jane was silent a moment, thinking. She jumped up onto the autopsy table and whined "Maurrrraaaa!"

"I will _not_ just 'stitch you up', Jane."

The brunette dropped her head, then lifted it once an idea sprung in her mind, "I'll get a kale salad for dinner tonight."

No response.

"I'll eat kale, for dinner, for a week."

Still no response.

"I'll watch that documentary on the reproduction of salamanders you were talking about yesterday."

Maura clicked away at her reports.

Jane sighed, knowing she had only one option left, her most hated option. "I'll let you dress me for that charity dinner I'm going with you to this weekend."

That got it. Maura slowly spun on her heel, squinting her eyes at the taller woman, "No complaints?"

Jane sighed, but looked hopeful, "No complaints."

"Heels?"

"If I must."

Maura happily walked over to a cabinet and grabbed all she needed from a few drawers and walked back over to her friend. She went to fill a syringe with a numbing agent but Jane waved it off, "No numbing, I can't have a dead face for the interrogation."

Maura put that down and began cleaning the wound.

"Oh." Maura said, a thought coming to her, "I know the perfect dress for you."

 _What have I gotten myself into?_ Jane thought, rolling her eyes.


	3. Breakfast Time

_Early on in their friendship, Jane makes breakfast for the two of them as a thank-you of sorts, but no one has ever made Maura breakfast before._

* * *

 _"_ _Did you ever like the same guy as your best friend?"_

 _"_ _No"_

 _"_ _Did you ever have a best friend?"_

 _"_ _No."_

 _"…_ _You'd tell me if you were a cyborg, right?"_

 _"_ _No I don't think I would."_

* * *

Jane had spent a few nights over at Dr. Maura Isles' house before, but it had always been due to exhaustion. It usually started with them eating dinner together, and then Jane would get sleepy, and the good doctor would guilt her into staying, making the excuse that Jane was too tired to drive home and that "driving tired is the same as driving drunk". So Jane would retire to Maura's immaculate guest room and was usually up and about to walk out the door before Maura could offer breakfast.

But _this_ morning, _this_ morning in particular, Jane wasn't quite ready to leave the doctor's house and face reality. She wanted just a few more minutes in the peace and quiet of Beacon Hill before entering the busy, bustling, violent, horrific life of being a homicide detective who also apparently had a serial killer after her. So, she rose from the bed, leaving a sleeping doctor, to head to also immaculately clean kitchen. Seriously, who has a kitchen this clean?

The detective poked through cupboards and cabinets and all the shelves of the fridge, finding all she needed to make a nice breakfast for the two of them.

 _"_ _A meal made with love is better than anything bought in a shop."_ Jane thought. Something her mother always said, but, she probably only said it to guilt Jane and her brothers into coming home for dinner to see their mother.

Jane cracked a few eggs into what looked to be a brand new sauté pan and flicked on the gas stove. Next, she poured some batter onto a flat griddle and then went in search of fruit.

"What are you doing?" came a groggy voice

Jane spun to see a disheveled, yesterday's-clothes wearing, bed head-sporting Maura Isles standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

"I'm making breakfast."

"Oh." she seemed lost, even though it was her own house

Jane turned back to the stove, "Now, what do you want in your omelet? I diced some onion, ham and tomatoes, and I saw some other veggies in there too if you want that also."

"You're making breakfast for _me,_ too?"

Jane turned again with a laugh, "Well, it is _your_ kitchen. You think I'd just make something for me?"

Maura didn't seem like she could respond. A myriad of emotions crossed her face, mostly confusion.

"Ok, so tomatoes, onions and ham it is." Jane said, turning back to the stove when she didn't have an answer. Maura seated herself at the counter and watched in awe. Jane expertly portioned out ingredients to the omelet that was cooking, pinching salt and pepper between her long fingers like she'd done it a million times. She then turned to the pancakes, picking up a spatula and flipping them with ease, then slid down the counter a bit, picking up a long knife and slicing two oranges into quarters and a grapefruit in half. Four slices of orange and one half grapefruit were placed on each plate. Jane turned back to the now half-cooked omelet, grabbing the handle and expertly and smoothly flipped it to its other side, no muss no fuss no mess.

Maura's eyes widened. This was a completely new side of Jane she'd never seen before. Jane flipped two pancakes on each plate, then slid a half of an omelet on each plate and sat herself down next to her friend.

The brunette dug into her food like she hadn't just blown Maura's mind. Maura looked around the kitchen to see the mixing bowl she'd made batter in, and the two cutting boards, dirty utensils and pans. Jane looked up to see why Maura wasn't eating and nodded, "Don't worry, I'll clean my mess." She turned to Maura who was on the verge of tears, "Maur? What's wrong?" she extended her arm to touch her friend's knee.

"No one has ever made me breakfast before."

Jane's eyebrows furrowed, "What?"

"No one has ever made me breakfast before."

"Like, ever?"

The doctor shrugged, "In relationships, its never quite gotten to the breakfast-the-next-morning phase. And before that, mother and dad never cooked, they always had a chef on staff." Jane's eyes softened, "No one has ever taken the time to stop and _make_ me breakfast."

Jane couldn't help but smile.

"I said last night I'd never had a best friend, well actually, Jane, the truth is that I've never even had a _friend_. And sometimes I forget that I have _you_. And then you go and do things like this," she gestured towards the whole room, "and it reminds me and I can't help but, but…" Tears fell down Maura's cheeks and she started to breathe deeply to stop the oncoming melt down.

Jane laughed gently and pulled the doctor into her arms for a strong hug, "Honey." She kissed the blonde's hair. Maura pulled away, wiping her tears and attempting to smile. Jane grinned her big Rizzoli grin and watched Maura pick up a fork, and spear her omelet.

"Oh my!" Maura exclaimed, "This is delicious."

Jane went back to eating her own, "Don't sound so surprised."

"Where did you learn to cook?" Maura took a bigger bite and stuffed it in her mouth

Jane picked up her cup and took a sip of the steaming coffee, "My mother is Italian, Maura. Italian women cook."

"What else can you cook?"


	4. Claire De Lune

_Angela insists TJ takes piano lessons like Jane did, and one day, when he's practicing at Maura's house, Jane finds herself standing outside, unmoving, just listening. He makes a mistake and starts over, but keeps making the same mistake. Without thinking and unable to stop herself, she walks in and helps him fix it._

* * *

Two small feet dangle from the edge of a piano bench as two small hands plonk out a simplified version of Claire De Lune. A few notes here and there are missed, but the child keeps pressing on with a determination only a Rizzoli would have. A thin, worn out book of sheet music sits on the stand, open to this very song. Someone had written out every note name and count in red pencil as a help. Every time he misses a note, his little head full of dark brown curls tilts to the side as the gears shift in his brain.

Not far away, just outside the doorway in fact, stands another curly haired brunette, staring at her work-worn, serial-killer-battered hands, and listening intently to her nephew playing a familiar melody. She imagines his tiny little hands with long fingers (which he got from her), sliding across the keys, playing the same song she played a hundred times when she was his age. The same song she spent _years_ perfecting, until someone took away her will to play.

Angela stood in Dr. Isles' kitchen, preparing a light lunch for her grandson and herself while listening to him play the piano down the hall in Maura's home office. When Angela first mentioned something to Maura about having TJ take piano lessons, Maura insisted she let him practice on her own piano; the piano she had bought for Jane to play whenever she came over. But then Hoyt happened, and the piano was shoved into the home office before Jane knew it even existed.

A happy smile was pasted to Angela's lips as she spread peanut butter and fluff across bread. So many memories of little Janie, glued to a piano bench as a child, flooded her mind.

The front door opened and Maura came waltzing in, purse in the crook of her arm, and shopping bags in her hands. An early morning of boutique shopping had occupied Maura's Saturday off.

"Oh, Angela, hello." she said, dropping the bags by the couch

"Hello sweetheart."

"What are you doing here?"

A frustrated chord of wrong notes echoed through the hallway. They both winced and Maura gave a knowing look, "I see practice isn't going so well."

Angela chuckled, "Not at the moment. Would you like a sandwich?" Angela held up a half of sandwich with a smile.

Maura nodded, "Actually, yes, that sounds perfect." Maura took the offered sandwich half and took a bite, "Are you ever going to tell Jane that he is taking lessons?"

Angela sighed and shrugged, looking back down to her hands, her long hair falling to cover half her face, "I don't know. I mean, she worked so hard for so many years and she was an amazing pianist. You've heard her play, right? But that man." Angela looked back up to Maura, " _That_ man took away her love for it, and she's never been the same since. Yeah, she's found other hobbies and other things that have caught her fancy. And I know that if none of that horrible stuff had happened, she'd be the one to insist on him taking lessons, maybe even give him the lessons herself. But now, I don't know how she'll take it."

They listened to the little boy plonk out wrong notes here and there till suddenly, the notes were right, and the melody was perfect. They both looked at each other in confusion. There was no way that a six year old would get a song perfectly after just struggling through it.

They dropped what they were doing and slowly crept down the hall to the office and found something they never thought they'd see:

Jane, kneeling behind the piano bench, cheek to cheek with her nephew, her arms around his small frame, his hands resting atop hers as she guides him through the song. The song finishes and TJ quickly asks her to do it again, "Aunty Jane, again!"

Both women huddled in the doorway, waiting with baited breath for Jane to respond. This is a delicate situation. Either Jane could bolt, and let Hoyt win over her subconscious yet again, or she could stay and fight for herself.

Jane pulled back to look at her nephew and kissed his cheek, "Ok, once more, then its your turn again." TJ's squeal of excitement covered the sound of the two women sighing in relief as Jane lifted her fingers to the ivory keys once again.


	5. The Bookshelf

_While helping Jane move, Maura finds more than she bargained for. A stack of Maura's published papers from over the years. Why are does Jane have copies?_

* * *

It was a Saturday, the first full day off the crime-fighting duo had in weeks, and Maura had somehow coerced Jane into spending the day packing. Empty boxes, collapsed boxes, full boxes, half full boxes and overflowing boxes were what filled Jane's condo. Everything she owned was on its way into a box and then into a moving van.

Jane was in her room, packing. Or, well, let's face it, she was lying on the mattress - which was now on the floor -"packing", while Maura was sat on the floor in the living room, neatly categorizing and organizing all the books from Jane's bookshelves. Surprisingly, Jane had quite the collection of books. All of the classics: Dickens, Bronte sisters, Austen, Twain, a few Shakespeare here and there. Then there were books on crime and law and a even a few old, dog-eared textbooks from her Academy days.

Yet, what caught Maura's eye was not what was on her shelves, but beneath it. What seemed to just be the base of the bookshelf was actually a door to a cabinet. She pried it open to find a thick stack of magazines with an old kindle set on top. She pulled it all out, (first checking to make sure Jane wasn't watching, of course) and set it in-between her now outstretched legs.

She flicked on the kindle and found there were no books on it, but a whole series of papers. Papers written by herself. Papers she'd written and published during and after medical school all the way up to now. The stack of magazines were medical journals, and forensic magazines. Each had an article or journal written by her while she was in the process of becoming the chief medical examiner. The last in the stack was the most recent journal Maura had written, on working with the homicide unit at BPD, the effects of PTSD on relationships with coworkers and family caused by the dangerous work.

What she didn't notice was Jane, who was now standing directly behind her.

"You weren't supposed to find that."

Maura jumped, and in an attempt to put everything back where she found it, everything fell from her hands and went all over the floor. Flustered, she turned to the brunette with a furious blush, creeping down her neck, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have poked around."

Jane shrugged, unfazed, "Well, you were packing my books, and that _was_ under the bookshelf, so…" her eyes dropped to her hands.

"Jane?"

The brunette didn't look up.

"Why do you have all of these?"

Jane shrugged, "Well." she took a deep breath, "it started when I when I was going to be promoted to Homicide. I had only met you the one time. You know, when you thought I was a prostitute? So I did a little research and got a few of those journals. I just wanted to know something about you. And as we started to become friends, I kept looking. And, let me tell you something." she looked up and pointed a finger at Maura, "some of those papers were hard to find. I had to call people at BCU and those medical magazines to find them."

Maura's blush retreated as she listened and her smile came back, "Oh Jane." she breathed, "That is so thoughtful."

Aaaaaand up went the walls. Jane shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest, "Oh don't get all mushy on me." Jane's face scrunched up when she saw the unshed tears forming in Maura's eyes, "Oh my god, don't cry Maura. You know I hate it when you cry."

Maura wiped her eyes, but Jane grabbed her wrist and pulled her into her arms, kissing her soundly. Maura wrapped her arms around her lanky fiancé, "Don't do that."

"Do what?" Jane asked, looking down at the blonde

"Put your walls up. Whenever you do something incredibly sweet, you wall yourself up to make sure no one will make fun of you."

"No I don't." Jane mumbled

"Yes, you do." Maura said, letting go of Jane and pulling her down for another kiss, "But, I still love you." She turned back to the mess to assess what she had left to do.

Jane had an idea, "How 'bout we go grab something to eat and come back to this later?"

Maura picked up a box, "How about we finish the living room, then celebrate with ordering in dinner at our new house? Frankie and Tommy put together our bed this morning." she added with a big smile.

Jane grinned, "Deal." She bent over, grabbed the pile of magazines and dumped them in a box, "Bookshelf is done." she exclaimed, earning a loud laugh from her fiancé.

* * *

Three hours later, as the two headed out to the new house, Maura stopped in the doorway, "Jane, why don't you have my doctoral dissertation? You have everything else I've written."

"I looked for it online, but it was like, 200 bucks. I like you, but not _that_ much." she joked

Maura slapped her arm playfully and walked out the door, "Good thing I have a box full of them in the attic."

The brunette rolled her eyes, "Gooood, can't wait to read it."


End file.
